


Brooding

by ValleyNerd



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:51:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValleyNerd/pseuds/ValleyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline and Varric didn't approach Fenris together. Varric got there first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brooding

“Alright, Broody, tell Papa Varric what’s the matter.”

Fenris dragged his gaze away from the nearly-empty wine bottle in his hand, over to the dwarf making himself comfortable at his table with his elbows on his knees.

“Nothing is the matter,” Fenris grumbled.

Varric hummed in sarcastic agreement. The two sat in silence for a few moments before Varric spoke again.

“I can’t help but notice you never call her by her name.” Fenris’s glance was sharper this time. A warning. Varric ignored it. “Of course I mean Hawke. And it’s interesting that you call Carver by _his_ name.”

“Well he doesn’t always respond to ‘twit’,” Fenris grouched into his wine. “And you never say her name, either.”

“But then,” Varric said slowly, catching Fenris’s eyes, “I don’t call anyone by their name. What’s your excuse?”

Suddenly uncomfortable, Fenris shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and arms defensively. There was no way to put his reasons to words. There was no way to explain to Varric that calling Hawke by her first name implied familiarity. That one couldn’t possibly be familiar with a being as untouchable, unshakeable, unassuming as her. He couldn’t explain to Varric that being around Hawke made his head fuzzy and his heart pound. He couldn’t explain that calling her Hawke kept her at a distance, and kept the pain at a distance.

Nor could he tell Varric about how he’d run out on her after the most intimate moments he’d shared with another person. He couldn’t tell Varric that Hawke had touched unseen scars of his past and healed them. He couldn’t tell Varric that he wished there was more lyrium in his skin, just so she’d keep tracing the lines. He couldn’t tell Varric that he’d fallen for a very strong, fierce, tenderhearted woman. _Mage_.

He didn’t need to tell Varric that, after he’d let his sister go free, after he’d lamented that he was definitely alone, Hawke stood before him and all at once seemed vulnerable and powerless, even with staff in hand and blood on her robes. She was not a champion. She was not a noble. She was not a mage. She was a woman baring her heart to a man.

And he’d walked away. Again. Varric bore witness to that. Then he’d holed up in his rotten, stolen mansion like a rat, in anguish over his own stupidity.

Varric waited patiently for the elf to speak. Stubbornness kept his mouth shut for a long time, but just as he took a breath to tell Varric, tell _someone_ , all the words in his heavy heart, the front door of the mansion banged open. Aveline marched up the stairs.


End file.
